


The Joy of Violent Movements

by Feelforfaith



Category: Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 15:27:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17748473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feelforfaith/pseuds/Feelforfaith
Summary: "You shaved," Hemsworth said, running his fingertips over Chris's smooth cheek when he opened the door to his hotel room."You asked me to," Chris said and handed Hemsworth the bottle of Patrón Añejo he brought with him."And you always do what I ask?"Hemsworth's eyes were sparkling blue and Chris almost fucking blushed.





	The Joy of Violent Movements

His skin itches on the inside as he takes another drag off the joint. His body is heavy and light at the same time like he's swimming in a pool of jello. Blue jello. Blue, like Hemsworth's t-shirt. Blue, like Hemsworth's eyes.  
  


  
  


_"You shaved,"_ _Hemsworth_ _said_ _, running his fingertips over Chris's smooth cheek when he opened the door to his hotel room._

_"You asked me to,"_ _Chris_ _said_ _and handed_ _Hemsworth_ _the bottle of Patrón Añejo he brought with him._

_"And you always do what I ask?"_

_Hemsworth's eyes_ _were sparkling blue and_ _Chris_ _almost fucking blushed._  
  


  
  


His mouth stretches into a slow, open grin that pulls a satisfied sigh from somewhere deep inside him. He relaxes against the couch behind him and rubs his palm against the carpet they are both sitting on. It prickles under his fingers as if it's alive and hungry.

He focuses on Hemsworth sitting on the floor in front of him, takes another hit and passes the joint back to Hemsworth.

"Where did you get it, anyway?" Their fingers brush together and linger, and he wants to make it last longer.

"What, the weed?" Hemsworth inhales and finishes the joint, before he picks up the tube of lipstick from the coffee table, uncaps it and twists it out.

The lipstick shines juicy red, and Chris has an urge to lick it to see if it tastes like cherries. "No." He points to the lipstick. "This."

Hemsworth shrugs. "I borrowed it."

Chris wants to ask, from whom, but in the grand scheme of things, it's not a question he needs answered right at this moment.

On his knees, Hemsworth shuffles closer to Chris and settles in front of him cross-legged. He lays one hand on Chris's knee and leans into him, his other hand holding the lipstick.

"C'me here, princess." He forces Chris's knees further apart, and Chris opens them wide, welcoming. Hemsworth moves even closer, lifts Chris's legs and drapes them over his own knees. "That's better."

And it is. Through two layers of jeans, Hemsworth's steel-like thighs are pressing against his own, and he's almost sitting in Hemsworth's lap, except his ass is still on the floor. But it feels almost like he's sitting in Hemsworth's lap, and that's a whole uncharted territory he would very much enjoy exploring. He wraps his fingers around Hemsworth's biceps, and the muscles shift under his touch, straining without effort, filling up the space inside his palms. His hands skim down Hemsworth's arms, down his sides to his hips, and finally, they sneak under the t-shirt and set up camp above the waistband of Hemsworth's jeans. Now, that was a smooth maneuver. He grins.

"What's so funny?" Hemsworth says, his eyes crinkling. His knees press harder into the backs of Chris's thighs, making him want to moan shamelessly.

He rolls his head to the side. "Did'ya hear the one about a woman who had a bra tangled around her ankle?"

"What about it?"

"And they ask her, 'What happened to your bra?' And she says, 'It slipped.'" Chris bursts out laughing, his whole body shaking. "Get it?" He slaps Hemsworth on the shoulder, throws his head back losing his balance, still laughing like it's the funniest thing he's ever said. "It _slipped_ _._ "

"That's it, no more weed for you," Hemsworth says, watching Chris with narrowed eyes, but he's smiling, too.

"What? It's fucking funny."

"And you're fucking stoned."

"And you're fucking gorgeous."

The words slip out before he can censor them, and now it's too late to take them back. His mouth goes dry, and neon red lights are flashing inside his head _Damage control_ _!_ _Damage control_ _!_ But at the same time, he doesn't want to take his words back—he wants to shout them in big, bold letters to make Hemsworth hear what Chris hasn't had the courage to say all this time.

Hemsworth is watching him for what might be an eternity, and under his gaze Chris's face heats up, but he's not going to look away, and chips can fall wherever the fuck they fall.

After a long moment, Hemsworth closes his fingers around Chris's chin and squeezes. "You'll be gorgeous, too, princess."

Indentation of Hemsworth's fingertips are burning marks into his skin with heat that can burn down stone, and he can't focus on Hemsworth's eyes because that's too close, too much blue, too much like drowning.

"You know," Hemsworth says wrapping one arm around Chris, pulling him closer, "I've always wondered ..."

His fingers brush the back of Chris's neck. His breath sweeps hot against Chris's face. There's hardly any air left between them when his lips touch the corner of Chris's mouth.

Chris's mind is slugging a few steps behind, still waiting for what comes after "wondered," not quite processing yet, but his mouth needs no instructions from his brain to open and let Hemsworth in. Hemsworth's tongue is mapping out the back of his teeth before Chris realizes that he's not going to finish the sentence, and he can totally live with that, because oh, hell, _yeah._

Hemsworth's lips are chapped and hard and unfamiliar in a breathtaking way, with an aftertaste of the tequila they started the evening with, smoked wood and caramel, and Chris never loved the taste of tequila more than right in this moment, licking it off Hemsworth's tongue. He's reaching out to grab the back of Hemsworth's head to hold him in place, but Hemsworth pulls away, and Chris groans. He lurches forward to get more of that taste, more of everything because it can't end with this, but Hemsworth stops him with his palm against Chris's chest.

"Be still." Hemsworth grips his chin again. "C'me on, pout for me."

Chris can't think of anything he would refuse him right now, so he lifts his chin up and offers his mouth trying to shape it into something that comes out as a kissy pout. Or a pouty kiss.

Hemsworth seems satisfied with whatever face Chris is making because he grins. "That's it."

He swipes the lipstick he's still holding in the other hand, first along Chris's lower, then upper lip. He lifts Chris's chin, runs his thumb outside the corners of Chris's mouth and admires his handiwork. "There. You look good, princess. Really, _really_ _,_ good."

His narrowed eyes are watching Chris with the intensity of a wildfire. He is cradling Chris's cheek, thumb moving right under his lower lip as if he's teasing Chris's tongue— _come out and play with me._

What they say about not playing with fire? Yeah, total fucking bullshit.

Chris runs his tongue over his lips, unhurried, over the lipstick—and it registers only as an afterthought that it doesn't taste like cherries after all—and licks at the pad of Hemsworth's thumb.

He wraps the fingers of one hand around the back of Hemsworth's head, tugs on the short strands of hair. "Good enough to eat?"

Hemsworth tightens his grip on Chris's chin. "Good enough to fucking devour."

Chris doesn't wait for permission, and he doesn't wait for an invitation. He's waited long enough. He tightens his grip on Hemsworth's hair and pulls him closer, closer, until he can get to that mouth again. Hemsworth bites his lip, then soothes the bite with his tongue, and Chris presses their heads together harder, teeth clashing, but it's good, it's all good, and how has he gone all these years without _this?_ He closes his eyes and breathes in Hemsworth's scent that reminds him of the ocean.

Hemsworth's skin is warm under his fingers. Heat is seeping through the fabric of their jeans, slow and unstoppable like lava, and Hemsworth's hand is hot against his face. Inch by inch, he dips his fingers behind the waistband of Hemsworth's jeans, but Hemsworth pulls back and wraps both arms around him.

He rubs his cheek against Chris's and Chris groans. The stubble tickles and wakes up his nerve endings, the slow burn in his guts spreading through his body like a delicious promise.

"Do you ever wonder what Robert is like in bed?"

Chris's eyes snap open. "What?"

He tries to trace the conversation back to where it veered into this new direction, but the fog in his head is not clearing up fast enough, and all he can remember is _good enough to fucking devour._

Hemsworth shrugs. "I think he's an animal in bed," he rumbles against Chris's cheek. "Have you seen his hands? I bet he can do obscene things with those hands."

Chris's stomach drops from a hundred stories up in the clouds all the way to the ground. He tries to push Hemsworth away, but Hemsworth is not letting go of him, his arms still wrapped around Chris like iron shackles, still holding him tight, holding him down, and it's too hot now, not enough air to breathe.

His fingers dig into Hemsworth's back. "Shut up."

"Do you sometimes imagine what it would be like to fuck him?"

The way Hemsworth says _fuck him_ _,_ all slow and filthy and whisper-hot against Chris's skin, the same way he said _good_ _enough_ _to fucking devour,_ sends Chris's imagination spiraling—he can't help it. Because he has thought about it, but now it sounds like a dirty secret Hemsworth walked in on. "Shut. Up."

"Do you know he doesn't have tan lines? Anywhere?"

Chris is breathing hard, gulps of air through his clenched teeth, that are almost choking him, but aren't enough.

"Tell me, Chris, do you sometimes jerk off thinking about him?" Hemsworth rumbles into his ear again. "You wouldn't be the only one."

Hemsworth's body anchors him down, but everything else around him is spinning, spinning, spinning, and he's losing his sense of balance. He doesn't want to let go of Hemsworth, because if he lets go, he might fall off the edge of the world and never get back. His fingernails dig into Hemsworth's back, harder, scratching as if they want to draw blood, anything to stop Hemsworth from talking.

"Imagine I'm Robert, and you can do with me anything you want. Anything." Hemsworth's voice is rough like gravel under bare feet.

"Fuck you," Chris says through gritted teeth.

He tries to push Hemsworth away, but Hemsworth is big and heavy and apparently set on staying where he is, right between Chris's legs, with his chest squeezing the air out of Chris and with Chris writhing under him like a helpless kitten, and he hates how hard his cock is, and he hates even more that Hemsworth can feel it, too.

His left fist swings wide and lands a punch on Hemsworth's arm. "Get off me."

Hemsworth loosens his grip on him and pulls away, his face sharpened in concentration the way he looks when he's chewing through lines of a script, trying to deconstruct them.

"You wouldn't tell Robert to get off you, would you?" He slides his thumb along Chris's lips, wiping off the lipstick.

Chris bats his hand away. "Yeah, fuck you." When Hemsworth reaches out to his face again, Chris punches him again.

Hemsworth punches him right back, straight in the chest, and it knocks the air out of him _._

One corner of Hemsworth's mouth curls up. "You hit like a girl."

Chris is trained not to aim for the face. It's been drilled into him: nowhere within the 8x11 of a headshot, whether he's sparring in the gym, or shooting in front of the camera, but right now he doesn't give a fuck.

His fist slams into the side of Hemsworth's face with a satisfying _thud_ and he is watching in slow motion—everything's in slow motion—the way Hemsworth's head swings to the right and flies backward. It's the most gratifying thing Chris has done since ... ever.

When Hemsworth turns his head back, his lip is shining with blood. He winces and wipes it with the heel of his hand, smearing the blood and the traces of lipstick from Chris's mouth—blood red and cherry red blended together in stunning harmony.

Chris can already imagine the fascinating shade of purple Hemsworth's lip will be on Monday, and he can't wait to hear the inevitable explanation Hemsworth will have to come up with.

He tilts his head. "And how's that, _Robert?_ "

Hemsworth narrows his eyes and tightens his hand around Chris's bicep. "You really don't wanna do this."

Oh, Chris really, really wants to do this. "One way to find out."

Before he realizes what's going on, Hemsworth climbs to his feet, hauling Chris with him, walks him backward and shoves him hard against the wall. He forces his knee between Chris's legs.

Chris's breath catches in his throat. His heart is hammering in his chest. He's never seen Hemsworth like this before—like he wants to rip Chris apart or fuck him into the wall, or possibly both at the same time—and it only makes Chris want to get deeper under his skin.

Hemsworth grips the sides of Chris's head and holds him against the wall.

"For the record," Chris says between ragged breaths, "you know what I'd do if Robert were here?" He fists both hands into Hemsworth's shirt and drags him through the narrow space between them. Their faces are so close, he can't focus, and his thoughts blur like a watercolor. "I would tell him to fuck me."

"Is that so?" Hemsworth says.

"Yeah."

"You done this before?"

Chris's voice doesn't falter. "Plenty."

"So you're not gonna freak out on me?"

"Oh, fuck you." Chris pushes his hips forward and grinds them against Hemsworth's.

Hemsworth groans. "Chris ..."

The room glows bright blue at the edges of his vision when he's reaching down to fumble with Hemsworth's belt. "Right. Carry on, soldier."

Hemsworth closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them again, softly unfocused. He stills Chris's fingers on his belly and draws back, putting more distance between them.

"Wait," he says, breathing hard. "Just— Wait."

Chris blinks, reaches up and drags his fingertips through the five o'clock shadow on Hemsworth's face. "You want me to say, please?" He lets his head fall back against the wall. "Fuck me, _please_ _?_ "

"Chris." Hemsworth tightens his grip on Chris's jaw.

Sharp pain cuts through the cotton wool in his mind. Hemsworth's eyes are clear and blue over him, like a horizon. "Can we skip the pep talk part and get to the fucking part?"

"You have such a dirty mouth. It'll get you in trouble one day." Hemsworth pauses. "But not tonight."

"Why not?"

"You're wasted."

Chris groans. "Dude, you gave me the weed."

"I just wanted you to mellow out." Hemsworth's lips stretch in a grin. "You're such a lightweight. But when I fuck you for the first time, I don't want you wasted or drunk. I want you to remember every single moment."

"And they say chivalry is dead," Chris says before Hemsworth brings his mouth down on him, and Chris doesn't get the chance to protest. About the lightweight thing. Not about the _when I fuck you for the first time_ thing—that part is A-OK with him.

Hemsworth pulls away and breathes hot into Chris's ear. "And also I wanted to see you in red lipstick."

With barely a breath of air between them, Chris shivers. He nuzzles Hemsworth's neck. "You got me stoned so you could see me in red lipstick?"

"Mhm."

He is trying to process this new information. "Is that"—he has no clue where to fit it in—"like, something you get off on?"

Hemsworth _mhmms_ against Chris's ear again. "Sometimes. And not with everybody."

"But with me?"

"Yeah."

Chris thinks about it for a moment. Nope. He's got nothing. "Okay then." He reaches out to run the pad of his index finger along Hemsworth's lip where the swelling is already blossoming in purple. "I'm sorry about this."

Hemsworth shakes his head. "No, you're not."

"No, I'm not," Chris agrees. "You deserved it for being a jerk." He presses hard on the broken skin.

Hemsworth winces. He closes his fingers around Chris's wrist, forces his hand away and pins it above his head. "You were adorable, all riled up like that."

Chris makes an unconvincing effort to free his right hand from Hemsworth's grip, so it doesn't look like he's enjoying it too much.

"Or maybe you were jealous," he says and pats Hemsworth on the cheek with his other hand.

Hemsworth sighs. "You don't know when to stop, do you." He grabs Chris's free hand and forces it to join the other one above his head.

"Oh, nice," Chris says. And it is. _Very nice_ _._

Hemsworth lets his whole weight rest against Chris's body, his chest hard against Chris, his thighs hard between Chris's, his cock hard against Chris's. Chris's eyes slip shut, and a moan escapes his mouth when he rolls his hips against Hemsworth.

"Chris, the things I will do to you ..." Hemsworth rasps in his ear, stubble rough against his jaw. "I will fuck you so hard, it will break you, but you'll still take it all, and you will love it, every moment, and when you think that it's over, that we're done, I will do it to you again. And I promise you"—he dips his head to bite at Chris's neck—"you won't be thinking about Robert."

Chris's mind dives into overdrive, trying to imagine it, trying to memorize every word. He's breathing hard, long breaths, in and out, dragging Hemsworth scent in, sharp, like his teeth have been, sharp, like his fingers leaving trace across the expanse of Chris's back will be.

"And what"—he forces himself to open his eyes—"if I decide that I don't want that?" Bright sparks are going off inside his head, a thousand-volt current spreading throughout his body, making his spine tingle. "Will you make me?"

Hemsworth touches the pad of his thumb to Chris's lip, featherlight. "You'll have to wait to find that out."

He kisses Chris, biting again, and Chris tastes everything that's happened and everything that will happen: the lipstick, the blood, the scratches, the bruises, the skin, the sweat, the craving. And he can't wait.  
  


(end)


End file.
